


Hero's fall

by Afarie



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood, Death, Gen, Graphic Description of Corpses, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Violence, clint/laura (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afarie/pseuds/Afarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the world is in need, the Avengers assemble once again. But sometimes the burden of saving it can break the greatest heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hero's fall

**Author's Note:**

> It takes place somewhere before Infinity War.  
> There may be some typos.

Natasha threw a file folder on the desk, as she entered the room. Everyone else who already was inside came closer, some of them less willingly then others. They looked at each other, no one dared to touch a sheet of documents. The folder remained closed.

“Anyone still against this idea?” Steve asked, expecting no answer. His firm voice and severe gaze made them sit silent, no matter how much some of them had disagreed with him earlier.

“Good, seems we’ve got it settled” Tony said lively, then turned to a team, “For sure you, some of you have better things to do, so it’s a good time to leave now.”

New recruits got it immediately and went out as Stark nicely let them know that ‘veterans’ needed to talk now. There was a lot of new faces. Team wasn’t very picky recently, they’d taken almost everyone who had shown any will to help them. To help the world.

A smaller group, but still numerous stayed in room, old friends mainly. The atmosphere changed for more relaxed one.

“I can go” Wanda moved from her place near the wall. She reached the table, put her palms on its edge, but avoided looking at files. “Alone. The fewer, the better.”

“No, not alone.” Steve stated, but visibly agreed for first part of her idea. She wasn’t a kid anymore.

Tony noticed how uncomfortable everybody felt about the folder in the middle, so he opened it and started to go through it as others discussed.

“Pair up with someone” Rogers gave her nod of approval, “It might get tough in that place.”

“If you wanna go with stealth mode and stuff, I’m on it” Scott straightened up, glanced at each and every one present in room, eventually stopping at her. He smiled at her and she answered the same way.

“Wanda and I know Barton better” Natasha seemed to ignore Lang’s proposition. Determination burned in her eyes. She looked at Steve for his support “And it’ll be hard to persuade him.”

A few more people added their opinions to the conversation, only Tony sat silent as if he wasn’t really himself.

“I don’t know him well and you may think it’s an obvious reason for my doubts” T’Challa spoke loudly, but with weary voice, “and even though we all agree it’ll be good to have him on our side…”

Everyone focused on him.

“I only want to say that it could be difficult to cooperate with him” the king suddenly felt like a petty bully, surrounded by older friends of little kid he always mugged after school. And this kid had a hell of the squad.

“Oh, I can assure you there’s nothing harder than working with me” Bruce said slightly irritated, arms crossed over his chest.

T’Challa sighed at this predictable misunderstanding “You think you know him” he addressed all of them, opposing their annoyed gazes, “but is it him? The same person? You heard what he di—“

“It has no meaning now” Thor interrupted, completely unmoved. “What we need are his skills and experience, not innocence. Look around you, the world is not pure. None of us is. And I will trust him.”

Thor expected that his teammates would stand by him, with a supportive word or assent. However, no one was too eager to do it. Despite their great faith in Clint, they feared that a friend they’d once known was now a villain they had to stop.

*

A dozens of moths and small insects flew around bulbs that illuminated a hall of old warehouse. Some of them were already lying on the floor, motionless. There were also those which gave up and stayed on the walls or kept a distance. The strongest ones were still in the air, determined but hopeless in their dance with glowing orbs. Some of them weren’t so petite, their bodies just big enough to make noise every time one of them hit a surface of the bulb.

It was a barely audible knock. Goons below ignored it as much as they didn’t really care about their job. While their boss held a meeting, they guarded the place or at least they should. It no longer was late, actually it was getting closer to a dawn and anyone who hadn’t fallen asleep yet tried what they could to stay awake. Some went outside for a cigarette or a fresh air.

They died first.

When a huge moth tapped rhythmically against the glass, not even a rustle of the fight could be heard. After all not a fight had happened, but a slaughter.

It took those who left a few more minutes before they found the situation suspicious. Finally one thug moved to check it. He opened the door and as he was about to shout commands, an arrow went right next to his ear and stuck deep in the door. The whole room got alerted.

More arrows were sent in motion, this time precisely aimed. Goons were ready to open fire as soon as they found the position of the attacker, the shadowy spot under the roof, but before they succeeded, the second one emerged from the front exit.

Three brutes that stood right by the entrance could have call themselves lucky for getting an immediate death. Lacking the time, a man concentrated rather on killing than playing. Over twenty more people to take down, so he pounced at another bunch of crooks, quickly drawing the attention of the rest with his deadly moves.

They got a target to shoot now, or at least they thought so. A hooded figure in dark uniform was only warming up. He dodged fists and knifes, putting a katana in their flesh in response. Some lied dead, opened in the middle like a matryoshka doll, but those were a rare view. There were missing limbs and bleeding-out carotids and other finely inflicted wounds, and each made the sword wielder happy. After a tenth defeated goon, he even began to giggle.

He had a helper, though. Whenever on the other end of hall someone reached for a gun, an arrow from above stopped them, but didn’t kill. The ninja-like vigilante on the ground was there to finish anyone who still breathed.

By this way the one left untouched, the boss– the top of the local food chain.  The attacker approached slowly, no longer a blurry figure in killing frenzy. He wasn’t very tall, nor he got a trim body of an athlete, but a form of the fighter. His solid chest and hefty arm filled the space on their own, and they seemed even more massive under the thick vest and shoulder pads he wore. His outfit was all black except for few golden lines, not really making the aggressor look less mysterious.

With a tip of the sword the vigilante raise a cowered gangster’s chin, then took off own hood and bandana revealing the face, and a smirk on it.

“Sorry about a mess” he glanced at the path of corpses behind “It’d go faster, but I left a second sword at home.” He observed the face of his victim more carefully now, almost studying it. “What a waste of time” he snorted.

The boss tried to hide the fear, to stay indifferent to worst scenario, but his voice cracked anyway “So it’s true” he mumbled. “The great Hawkeye changed pants’ colour to play bad.”

Clint chuckled and patted his thigh with a free hand. The other one tightened its grip on the katana. “I’m not Hawkeye.” With a swift swing his job here was finished. The blood from the beheaded body streamed quickly, and before he put the sword back into scabbard the puddle reached his feet. “Not anymore” he added.

The area was clear. He whistled loudly, and on this mark his partner showed up. A black-haired girl in purple and black clothes got down from her spot on joist under the roof, using a grappling hook arrow. The view that waited for her on the floor was quite familiar, especially after operations like this one, but her eyes still avoided looking at the massacre. She told him too many times how disgusting he was, but it didn’t make him change his ways.

She headed to front door, with Clint a few steps behind her. “So how was it?” Kate asked and it cheered her up a bit that her mentor didn’t seem mad.

“Sloppy,” and her morale got buried instantly.

Clint noticed that it wasn’t an answer she expected. It didn’t make him feel bad at all. “I’ve got more remarks, if you want to hear them. And no matter if you want, one of them must be said.”

“You missed.”

They strode through dark alleys and streets, completely emptied at this time of the day. They continued walking in silence to keep low profile until they got to safer part of the city, and when they did Clint started again.

“You’re lucky you missed the way you did,” his tone got a bit more serious. “What if you didn’t shoot guys with guns?” he looked in her eyes, his gaze harsh, “If they took me down, you’d be next, Kate. You don’t miss, not in this line of work.”

“I understand” she nodded and bit her lip, lowering her head. Clint wouldn’t be call world’s greatest marksman if he couldn’t notice this. He sighed at himself and his sense of humour, as once again he realized that with age he was getting worse and worse in being funny. He stopped and she followed his move.

“Those other remarks I mentioned… I was kidding. You missed, but you did great nonetheless, kid” Kate didn’t seem to believe him at first, but slowly her face brightened up when he sent her a reassuring smile. And he didn’t do it often.

She was good, Clint’d seen it in her since the first day. She’d found him herself, trained on his terms, hadn’t stopped no matter what an impossible task he’d given her. Eventually she’d earned his trust, and his bow. Even though she still was his trainee, he treated her as a partner. After all, Kate was smart, she’d quickly realized that the world wasn’t spinning as it should, that the old order was about to end.

She reminded him of his own kid – his clever, curious boy – but he chased away memories that no longer belonged to his head.

“Okay, that’ll be all for today. Can you go to your flat alone from here?”

“Yeah, but what about the pizza-“

“Someone is following us since we left that warehouse.” Clint whispered, “Go home. I can deal with this.”

Kate saw in his eyes that ‘no’ wasn’t an answer he could accept, and besides she’d promised to trust his calls as long as they weren’t totally insane. That’s what she did. She went away and for a longer moment Clint just stood there, checking if she’d really listened to him. When he was sure, he reached for his sword.

“You’re after me” he shouted, addressing it in every direction, “so don’t you dare, you fuckers, play a stalker with her or touch her, ‘cause you can be damn sure I’ll be there to crash your bones.”

At the other end of the alley, in the cloud of fog he saw a figure. He didn’t catch many details, it was far away, and his sight no longer as perfect as it’d used to be. He should go see an oculist as Laura always told him and— no, that’d been a long time ago.

“Let’s make it quick, then.”

Clint didn’t bother to put the hood on. He stretched his neck on both sides and began to walk. His fingers played with a blade impatiently, looking forward to a good challenge. The person stood still, unmoved by his tricks with katana, but it didn’t change his mind about the situation. He had an advantage, it seemed all nice and simple.

The closer he was getting, the more features he noticed. It was a woman, not taller than him. She was casually dressed, no weapon or back-up with her. It couldn’t be easier, the girl looked like she was waiting for getting her ass kicked here. Easy job, maybe too easy. His suspicions rose in him immediately as if he’d already got them, but ignored them till this moment.

No, it was okay. It was just a fortunate coincidence that the enemy was too weak to fight, to be any threat for him. No, he didn’t go right into the trap.

The trap?

No, it couldn’t be. Ever _ything_ _is fine._

_It’s okay, there’s no danger. No need to worry, you can relax now. Everything is fine._

Clint stopped, it all felt both good and uncomfortable. And familiar?

_Everything is fine._

He raised his hand and waved near his face, as if he tried to get rid of annoying insect.

_Put the sword down._

He frowned at these words, anger erupted in him when he realized how easily he was deceived, how cunning someone tried to be. A pathetic attempt.

He hated magic.

“You witch!” he stormed forward and crashed his body into hers. She lost the balance and concentration, and he used a second of her infirmity to pin her to the wall. “Oh you fucked up, I can tell!” he tightened one hand around her neck, with the other one ready to push a sword under her rib cage.

“Clint, please” she muttered in fear of his growing rage, and although he didn’t look like he could be appeased, hearing her voice confused him visibly.

“Who are you? Who send you?!”

“The Avengers. Do you remember?”

A mist of frenzy was dispelled, as if a thing she said was a switch-off command for him. He lowered his weapon when all of sudden a face in front of him became recognisable.

“Wanda.”

*

Wanda breathed a sigh of relief when he let her go. She really wanted to avoid using her power against him, but wouldn’t hesitate if it was necessary.

He scoffed and said “Go away.” His anger was reduced to plain displeasure, but any moment now he could get his hands on the weapon and make her leave him be. It wasn’t Clint Barton she remembered. His look was a proof itself, but it was only a covering for a real evidence.

“Clint” she said as he took few steps back and shook his head.

“Go away.”

“I’m sorry for entering your head. I shouldn’t…”

“Go away” he called louder this time, then turned around and started to walk away.

There were a lot of scars in visible places and she didn’t want to know how many more hid under his clothes. A few were on his face, together with signs of his aging, but with a tight-and-high haircut he didn’t look that old. And for sure he didn’t feel old. He was in shape, probably even better than the last time she’d seen him.

He wore a vest, the same one he’d often used, the one he’d got in Sokovia, or maybe just very similar. The purple-burgundy colour of it was replaced by a black with a little addition of gold, like a piece in the centre that covered a zipper and some other thin lines. Except for the hood that hadn’t been there before, the design of the vest stayed the same. Arms were protected by long gauntlets and shoulder pads in the form of tough pauldrons, with the same colours as the rest of the clothing.

The new outfit didn’t look bad, not as much as he did with a sword on his back. The change in wielded weapon was like a reflection of what had happened inside him. Wanda didn’t want to visit his mind once again. The chaos she saw explained pretty well why he hadn’t recognised her a moment before, but it was merely a tip of the iceberg. Deep inside she found the archer she’d known only a few years ago, but it was a broken version of him, beaten down and in pain, hidden under a layer of maniacal laughter and brutal actions.

“Clint, I’m here because we need you” she managed to draw his attention, because he slowed down and stopped. “The world needs you.”

“The world is doomed” he looked at her over his shoulder, “and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t want me to help in further devastation.”

“That’s your answer? Is that what I will tell Steve and others?” She sounded innocent, but so confident as well. Without her powers, she succeeded in making him listen. In making him be so easily provoked. “Is that what you would tell Laura?”

A wrath took him in its grip once again, but it didn’t break out this time. He sighed heavily, his control regained. He turned to face her. “Damn, kid. How did you grow so fast?”

“C’mon, we won’t talk here.”

Clint took her to his flat. The dwelling he rented was small; one room plus bathroom. Only furniture in there was an old, shabby couch, but that didn’t mean there was a lot free space. Everything he got or what he bought lied on the floor, and just because Wanda felt bad for him stopped her from telling him about a nasty smell of this place. She remembered all those beautiful decorations and additions he’d made for a farmhouse, and the worst part of this memory was a fact that the man from it no longer existed.

Clint unzipped the vest, took it off and threw on the ground. He did the same thing with a shoulder pads and gloves, then sat down on the sofa or rather fell down on it. His body looked more tired than he showed.

“Where is your family?” she got closer to him, but didn’t take a place next to him. He seemed relaxed enough so she didn’t need to worry about another sudden outrage. He avoided looking into her eyes. “Because they are somewhere.”

“Stark’s contacts are pretty useful sometimes. He does what he can to make sure…” she did this pause not for an effect, but for herself, “to make sure no media will say that the guy named ‘Ronin’ is in fact Hawkeye, that Clint Barton is running on the street in killing spree. You know, for the kids’ sake.”

He laughed quietly, still looking anywhere but not at her. “Making me feel guilty is a lame way to convince me. It’s not like I sob every time I make a kebab out of some fucker.”

“Yeah, exactly” she forced herself to smile, but it only got awkward. “You know it’s fully your choice, of course I’ll respect your refusal” she lied, “but I need answers.”

“Why?”

“You brought me in your family, Clint” she changed the tone of voice to sound more serious. It worked better on him. “I’d like to know, because I care. And you do, too.”

She sat down next to him and touch his hand with hers, leaving him no way to escape. Maybe she was messing with his head or not, but it had no meaning when she was right. He did care. He’d never stopped, and just because he did he’d ended up in worst shit-holes.

“They’re safe” _and far away from me_ he didn’t add, but Wanda read it from him. She squeezed his hand gently and stroked a long scar on his wrist. “New name, new place.”

She wanted to know more, but he only nodded and closed his eyes. “They’re safe.”

“They won’t be, no one will be. You know what’s coming.”

The shadow of infinite conflict fell on their world. The threat far too great for Avengers to stop, but they’d try, as always. His old friends wouldn’t like his methods, but if they wanted him back they’d better learn to accept it.

“I don’t use bow anymore” he sighed, and she knew she got him on her side.

“That’s not the only reason why I’m here. We need your knowledge, experience, tactics, skills—“

“Like the fact that I can notice a back-up you have in the pocket?”

“Shit, we’re compromised!” Scott yelled and Wanda blushed in inner panic, but Clint found it amusing.

“I said _I_ don’t use the bow, but I know someone who does. You got a free job position?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you like it.  
> It's mostly my gibberish of some Ronin!Clint based ideas. I've just wanted to get this out of my mind.  
> Partly inspired by this gifset: http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/96473312142
> 
> I've made a drawing of Clint's outfit. It's just a try on modernizing the Ronin costume. You can check it here: http://alexinthestrangeworld.tumblr.com/post/146959815886/a-modernized-costume-of-ronin-or-rather-something


End file.
